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I’ve been dragging my feet on this update because I don’t like being the bearer of bad news. Usually when we hit a rough patch I leave the updates to Natasha (or Leigh), but this time I’ll do the dirty work myself.

Here we go again

Before anyone jumps to any conclusions, let me just say: I’m still cancer free. And, thank God for that!

However, my chemo is on hold for the time being, as some complications have surfaced that must be addressed. You may (or may not) remember the pneumonia I battled last year left a small cyst in the right upper lobe of my lung. After various examinations, a CT scan, and a brochoscopy, we have learned that the cyst has become infected. At this point, the doctors believe the best course of action is to have it surgically removed.

Natasha and I met with the surgeon last week, who told me “you look better than your chart,” and assured us that he felt confident the procedure would be a success. Surgery is scheduled for May 8th, with anywhere from 4-6 days in the hospital to recover.

Physically, I feel strong. I rode my bike this morning and have been able to get back into a regular routine at the gym. Emotionally, I’m discouraged but not distraught. There are a lot of reasons to feel good about this. I am physically strong, I have a functioning immune system, and removing the cyst eliminates a potential source of future complications. There are a lot of reasons to be thankful.

All that said, this still sucks.

I’m not going to say this is just another bump in the road, or hurdle to clear, because I’m tired of those analogies. This feels like another brick wall to run through. But we’ll do it. What choice do we have?

I’m always finding inspiration in unexpected places, and earlier this week I was inspired by the Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race, and the story of one author’s journey to follow the race from the air. It’s a long read (with some beautiful photos) but highly recommended if you can find the time. Here’s the link to the full story: Out in the Great Alone

One of my favorite passages comes all the way at the end, when the author comes to a certain realization about the whole race, and why people (and dogs) subject themselves to such extremes:

Who knew what would ever be there tomorrow? And it hit me that that was exactly the point of the Iditarod, why it was so important to Alaska. When everything can vanish, you make a sport out of not vanishing. You submit yourself to the forces that could erase you from the earth, and then you turn up at the end, not erased.

I guess, in a way, we’re all racing our own personal Iditarod, making a sport out of not vanishing. I like that idea.

This update is overdue, but for the most part, it’s safe to assume that no news is good news at this point. To that point, I’ll get right to it: I’m cancer free.

I had a PET scan last week and, to quote the radiologist’s report, “there was minimal uptake at the periphery of the mediastinum,” but nothing lighting up in a way that would indicate relapse. Translation: Everything is looking good. The activity at the periphery of the mediastinum is common in patients that have received radiation therapy (which I have) and is no cause for concern. I’ll have a full CT Scan in Feb/March, which will mark our next milestone on this journey back to full health. Until then, I continue on the maintenance chemo regimen–a combination of daily, weekly, and monthly pills along with once-a-month IV infusions.

In November I had my eighth and final (God willing) dose of intrathecal chemotherapy.

One year ago this week (December 4th, 2011) I was in the ER with back pain and breathing problems. An X-ray revealed an unidentified mass in my chest, between my heart and lung. Four days later, on December 8th, I was officially diagnosed with stage IV lymphoma/leukemia. As we approach the one year anniversary of my diagnosis, I’ve been awash in a variety of not-so-pleasant memories. It’s crazy to think that it was only twelve months ago that this whole chapter of my life began. Continue reading →